


Special Delivery

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Chuck needs to feel at home for once in his life, Cussing, Fluff, M/M, Raleigh is weirdly Zen after his soul-searching, internal monologue for the most part, okay so I added more, snuggles and cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9044417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: After Pitfall, Raleigh walked out of the shatterdome without so much as a goodbye. Shortly after, though, he started sending letters to Chuck. Nothing too flowery or soul-searchy. Just... letters. Chuck, who's not used to getting mail, isn't quite sure what to make of them.After eleven months, though, he's pretty sure he likes them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estei/gifts).



> I blame this solely on this picture from tumblr.
> 
>  

It had been eleven months. Eleven long, stupid, slow-ass months since Raleigh Fucking Becket -- human plague extraordinaire -- walked out of the shatterdome without so much as a fucking goodbye and just... never came back.

Chuck hadn't given it much thought at first. What did he care if that wanker wanted to go walkabout? The bloke saved the world. If he wanted to disappear, Chuck figured no one had any right to stop him. Respect.

But the silly bastard didn’t disappear  _completely._ Less than two weeks after Becket left, the letters started arriving.

For Chuck, who hadn't exactly had a lot of post experiences in his life, considering he’d spent most of it in a shatterdome with his old man -- the only person who might have anything write-down worthy to say to him -- right there at his side, the letters very quickly became... a secret pleasure. He rather liked the anticipation as to when the next one would arrive, as they weren't on any sort of schedule that Chuck could reckon. The surprise and little leap in his heartbeat every time he saw his name scrawled on the plain white envelope.

That moment where he locked his door and simply sat on his bunk for a moment and held the sealed letter, letting the feeling build until he almost couldn't stand it.

The letters never said anything terribly... important? Becket wasn’t spilling his soul in weirdly block letters, after all. The bloke might do so with Mori -- he hadn't asked, mostly because he didn't want to admit he was getting letters, too -- but with Chuck, it was mostly... a weird sort of journal.

 

 

 

> _I just took a train ride. We used to travel a lot when I was a kid. One year, we took the Amtrak from coast to coast. I read **Murder on the Orient Express** and was really disappointed when there was no murder mystery to solve. The food was good, though._

Or:

 

 

 

> _Spent the night in Transylvania. There's a depressing lack of vampires there. I was misled._

Or:

 

 

 

> _Have you ever eaten borscht? It reminds me of the Kaidanovskys, I think. Maybe that's just because it feels like "survival by whatever means" in a bowl. I mostly ate it out of solidarity._

Just random little snippets. Nothing that should have had someone who'd killed kaiju all over the world in an agony of waiting, but Chuck couldn't help it. They were words, no matter how mundane, that had been written down especially for him and sent across the world. Postage paid.

They were... proof, maybe? That someone was thinking of him? Maybe even fondly?

And they were oddly enlightening. They didn't provide a lot of pertinent details, but they did let slip plenty of seemingly uninteresting ones. Like how well-traveled Becket had been before his mum got sick. Like how extensively he'd read before becoming a jaeger pilot.

Little details that started to form a very different picture of Raleigh Becket than the one Chuck had always kept in mind. Not a coward who'd run away when times got rough, but a real person who'd done his best and knew it hadn't always been good enough… but he'd still done it.

It was a much better picture.

Thus, when the bloke enclosed a marked map with his next letter -- it had been so much thicker than the usual regular-sized envelope that he'd held onto the unopened package for a solid half hour before the curiosity was too much to bear -- Chuck hadn't hesitated to request leave, pack a bag, and find transport. Alaska, of course. He should've known the silly sod would eventually end up back there. Unfinished business, perhaps.

It took the ferry, two airplanes, a taxi, a bus, and a two-mile hike up an otherwise unmarked, snow-choked track through the Alaskan wilderness -- Chuck hadn't packed warm enough clothes for this shit -- but he finally stood on the porch of a secluded, rugged but solid old log cabin. Like with the letters, he paused a moment before knocking to let the anticipation build.

What would he say? What would Becket say? Were they something like friends now, or did the bloke still maybe think Chuck hated him?

Did Raleigh know it had never been hate? That it had only been the situation, the frustration that anyone had left whilst there was still work to be done, the fear that the bloke would leave them high and dry again at the zero hour?

That they all might fail, even if everyone did everything right?

"Chuck?"

He spun around, and there the silly bastard stood, out in the lane Chuck had just snow-plowed up. Beanie on his head, longer hair and snow-dusted beard, scarf around his neck under a warm-looking wool coat, mittens on his hands, heavy boots, and a camera bag slung over his shoulder.

Smiling at him.

Raleigh Fucking Becket.

"I guess you found the place alright?"

Refusing to sputter -- or acknowledge the little leap in his chest that felt appallingly similar to seeing his name on an envelope -- Chuck smirked. "Your instructions are for shite, mate. Coulda warned me there's no taxi service out this far, ya wanker. I'm fucking freezing."

The smile spread, blue eyes warm and twinkling, the bastard looking genuinely glad to see him. It was like all the letters arriving all at once, and Chuck....

"Well, we can't have that. Let's get you inside and in front of the fire." But the bloke stopped beside him and looked him right in the eye. "Uh… can you stay? A while?"

They stood closer together than they had since Stacker's rally speech before the drop, though that had been shoulder-to-shoulder, not face-to-face. It was impossible not to take in the details from this close. A few snowflakes caught in long, blond eyelashes. How well the beard suited the bloke. All the blue – beanie and coat – making those eyes looking like the bottom of an ocean that had never suffered the Breach.

Swallowing hard, Chuck tried to smirk and didn’t quite make it. "My ticket's open-ended, yeah?"

Those blue, blue eyes crinkled at the corners. "Good. Because I got you a Christmas present. Hoped maybe you'd still be here to open it."

He couldn't help but grin a bit. "I… uh… brought you one, as well."

The bloke's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

Since he wasn't sure he wasn’t blushing, he rolled his eyes. "Still freezing here, mate."

"Oh, right. Right."

Adorably flustered now, the silly bastard fumbled to take off a mitten so he could fumble out his keys and fumble to unlock the door. Just as the tumblers, which were apparently a bit stiff, cooperated, Chuck decided he couldn't wait anymore. The anticipation was too much.

"Have you been writing Mori, too?"

The bloke's hands stilled.

"Raleigh?"

Oddly enough, the silly sod shot him a quick side-eye and sighed. "We talk all the time."

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped a bit closer, though it put his chest right up against Becket's shoulder. "But do you _write_ her?"

God, how had he never noticed the knock-down power of those eyes? Maybe because he hadn't seen them from this close when the bloke wasn't pissed at him.

"No." A hint of a grin. "Just you."

The smile caught him unawares. It was all over his face before he could stop it. He had no doubt he looked like the sappiest bastard under the sun, but right now, he didn't care.

"Good."

Was... was that... was Raleigh Fucking Becket  _blushing?_

The smile widened even further, but he tried to rein it in. And, because he was still Chuck Fucking Hansen, he rubbed it right the fuck in.

"I could just kick the door in for you, mate. Y'know, if you're having trouble."

Still blushing but looking half-ass annoyed with him, which was a much more familiar look, the pretty bloke gave the knob a turn and the door a shove.

"By all means, after you."

Feeling like, for once, he might actually be in the right place at the right time -- and might even be welcome there, which was definitely a first -- Chuck grinned at the bloke he'd just come around the world to see.

"Thought you’d never ask."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was just supposed to be a one-shot inspired by the picture. But I kinda kept talking about it with Estei, and then I kinda tossed out some more fluff because we both needed fluff, and then holy crap. It turned into the rest of the story. So here it is. The rest of the story.
> 
> *sheepish*

Chuck was legitimately freezing from a two-mile hike through an Alaskan winterscape, so Raleigh skipped the welcome tour and made no bones about shoving the sort-of-surprise guest right through the main room to stand in front of the fire. _Of course_ Chuck had worn his usual get-up and nothing more protective. He was that kind of guy.

Then again, maybe the kid didn't have anything warmer. Well, they'd do something about that later.

For now, Raleigh stirred up the fire and added a few stovelengths, then dragged one of his old but comfy recliners closer and helped the big, shivering jerk shrug out of his coat. He wrapped one of his quilts around those broad shoulders, then shoved the kid down in the chair with orders to stay put.

Then, he debated a moment. Fuck it. He'd just do the thing and maybe apologize later.

While Chuck huddled back in the quilt, Raleigh knelt down and tugged the kid's melty, slushy boots off. He didn't care about the trail of slushy melt across the floor, but he did care that Chuck didn't lose any toes to frostbite, so he ignored whatever expression might be on his old rival's face and cranked the footrest up so the slightly damp socks would be closest to the fire.

He wasn't exactly avoiding eye contact as he tidied up with an old towel and busied himself in the small kitchen, doctoring the cocoa a bit with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cream and piling a plate with the snickerdoodles he'd baked yesterday because the nice little Russian lady at the grocery store had snuck the recipe into his basket while she interrogated him about working with the Kaidanovskys.

Thankfully, Chuck had at least quit actively shivering by the time Raleigh returned with offerings, so he handed over a mug -- which the kid gratefully cupped in both hands -- set the plate and his own cocoa down on an end table he dragged over into easy reach, then pulled his own recliner closer to the fire, too. It was oddly gratifying to watch Chuck Hansen, who could be such an asshole, hmm softly as he sipped his cocoa, a look of utter bliss softening those hard features and taking years off his age.

"This is not regular cocoa."

He found himself grinning and didn't bother hiding it. "There's this old Russian lady in town who's taken it upon herself to educate me as to the little comforts of life. She gives me a recipe in return for stories about how badass the Kaidanovskys were."

Chuck snorted.

"Are you allergic to dairy or anything?"

One ginger eyebrow rose. Raleigh shook his head fondly.

"Then eat a cookie. The sugar rush'll do you good."

The kid rolled his eyes but obligingly unwrapped enough to reach for a cookie. With a muffled "Oh, Jesus", he reached for another. And another.

"Did you make these?"

Again strangely pleased by the obvious approval inherent in the suddenly rapid shoveling of cookies, Raleigh tried not to look too smug. "Yesterday, yeah. I wasn't expecting company or anything. Just... Zoya sometimes sneaks things into my basket without charging me, so--"

This time, the kid grabbed an entire handful and huddled back in his quilt with cookies in one fist and cocoa mug in the other. Raleigh blinked.

"By the handful? Really? I guess that's pretty flattering--"

"Haven't eaten since yesterday."

Appalled, Raleigh just stared for a long moment. "Chuck, why the hell haven't you eaten since-- never mind."

Exasperated, he shoved out of his comfy, warm chair and headed back into the kitchen. He'd just made a batch of chili the night before -- more meat than beans, like Yancy had always made -- so he heated up a pot full while he boiled some spaghetti on another burner. He could hear Chuck gnoshing away behind him and hoped the kid didn't make himself sick with sweets on that empty a stomach.

Not that he didn't hurry to refill the big brat's mug at the first quiet sound of disappointment.

Soon enough, he had a big bowl of spaghetti red to serve. He even added a few pickles and the chopped onions he'd saved from the night before.

"Eat up. There's plenty more where that came from. You need protein." Shaking his head, he let himself look both amused and stern. "Why on earth didn't you eat something sooner?"

Shrugging in his quilt cocoon, Chuck finally put aside his cocoa. "Didn't think to. I just... went."

Which was... weirdly sweet, maybe? Impulsive and hugely lacking in foresight, but again, strangely gratifying.

Raleigh hadn't really let himself think about what Chuck would do about the letters he couldn't help but send. He'd just wanted the kid to maybe see a little more of the world than what he'd seen from a conn pod, and he knew better than to think Chuck Hansen would ever leave Herc (or Max) behind just to go fart around the world. So... he'd jotted down a few things he thought might amuse the big jerk.

And then, somewhere along the line, he'd found himself missing him. Sure, they hadn't exactly gotten on at first. But they'd put that behind them before they dropped for Pitfall, and Raleigh couldn't help but wonder if anyone actually knew the Chuck Hansen that hid under the swaggering jaeger pilot persona.

So... he wrote him. Maybe Chuck wouldn't even get the letters, but he'd kept sending them anyway, and he'd let himself hope that maybe the kid would at least come for a short visit. Just to get out for a week or two.

Would maybe miss him in return and want to see him.

"Raleigh?"

He blinked, then realized he'd just been standing there by Chuck's recliner, staring into the fire. Embarrassed at being caught so deep in his own thoughts -- maybe Mako was right that he'd spent too much of his life alone lately -- he cleared his throat.

"Yeah?"

Jesus. The bowl was already empty. How long had he been staring like an idiot?

"You said there was more?"

This fucking kid. Grinning, he obligingly went back to the kitchen for more, piling the bowl high. "Were the pickles and onions okay?"

"Honestly, I thought you were fucking with me when I saw them, but yeah. They're good."

Snorting, he rolled his eyes and added them again. "Anything else you wanna try?"

"Got anything to make it spicier? It's good the way it is, but I'm not sweating yet, yeah?"

"Brat."

"You asked."

Yes, he had, so he obligingly took out the tabasco sauce and poured it on, giving everything a stir before taking the new bowl in. It was worth it for the simple, bright-eyed grin -- and those fucking dimples -- the kid gave him.

"Thanks, mate. Who knew you could cook?"

Rolling his eyes, he went on impulse and reached out to scruff the kid's hair. It was a little damp from the snow that had melted into it, but that just made for an adorable bedhead look that he refused to tidy.

"That's what happens when you don't have a mess hall at hand."

"Yeah, yeah."

But the shoveling had already begun, so Raleigh went back into the kitchen and stirred in a generous scoop of cayenne and a dash more cumin to the batch still steaming away on the range. That oughtta get the kid's metabolism pumping if he was up for a third helping.

"Seriously, mate. This is fucking awesome. It's not Bolognese, though, right?"

He grinned. This was going so much better than he'd conservatively hoped. "It's chili. Spaghetti red instead of actual spaghetti."

"Chili. Weird. This shouldn't be anywhere near as good as it is."

He snorted. "Thanks, I guess?"

"Welcome."

By the time he made it back to the fireplace, the kid had devoured the rest of his second serving and rather sheepishly presented his bowl for more. More flattered than annoyed, Raleigh obliged, scraping the bottom of the pot for the third helping and hoping he wouldn't need to boil another pot of pasta. Apparently, Chuck was a bottomless pit, though that should probably be expected. The kid was built like a brick shithouse and at the peak of physical fitness, thanks to years of piloting. Of course his metabolism was off the charts.

Plus, the big dork hadn't eaten since yesterday.

Also, by this time, he'd warmed up enough that he shrugged mostly out of the quilt -- though he left it wrapped around his legs and kept his feet to the fire -- and was a bit more chatty than shovely.

"So... you really went all the way to Transylvania, just to see if they had vampires?"

This time, he hid his grin as he sipped at his newly refilled cocoa. "I was in Romania anyway."

The kid blinked over his latest forkful. "Uh... why?"

His eyebrows rose, the grin threatening even more. "It's pretty there?"

Rolling his eyes, Chuck poked at his food. "Jesus Christ."

"Yeah, mostly. They're pretty solidly Christian or Catholic, so there was a lot of religious imagery everywhere."

Ginger eyebrows rose, and the kid chewed a little faster to clear his mouth. "Seriously? Then why the hell do they believe in vampires?"

The grin broke free, so he quickly turned it into a smirk. "Because it was convenient for a drunken Irishman to write about the culture invasion of 'others' into the British Empire by disguising them as mythical creatures who could and should be killed by whatever means necessary?"

That was a noisy, almost painful-sounding swallow. "Harsh."

Still smirking, he shrugged. "Just sayin. More cocoa?"

"Please."

As he stood to oblige, Raleigh sighed with... relief. He hadn't been sure when he sent the map if letting Chuck know where he lived was a good idea or not. Hell, he hadn't even been sure the kid was getting his letters at all, let alone reading them.

But it was clear now, with Chuck kicked back in a recliner an enjoying a good fire, good food, and a good chat, that not only had the kid been reading those letters but had actually paid attention to them. Remembered them later.

It was... a start.

Raleigh would definitely take it.


	3. Chapter 3

As much as Chuck wanted some kind of... closure?... from the trip, he was really fucking tired. He always got cranky when he traveled, though he'd assumed that was the pressure of knowing a kaiju usually awaited at the end of any given trip, and the _two mile trek through the wilderness_ didn't exactly help.

The food did, though. Raleigh Fucking Becket could claim he wasn't much of a cook all he wanted, but that chili shit was amazing. Especially after he spiced it up. Tasty as fuck.

But he really was tired, so he didn't grumble too much when Becket hauled him up out of the increasingly more comfortable chair and back toward the chillier back rooms of the cabin. There were two, and Chuck's was obviously a guest room that had probably been empty until a week or so ago. Probably until that last letter, if he had to guess.

But for now, it had a bed with a comfy mattress and layers of blankets, an Ikea dresser in the corner, and most importantly of all, an electric space heater. Chuck promptly cranked that bastard all the way to eleven and vowed to hit the nearest shopping center for some warmer clothes at first opportunity.

Not that he was staying more than a week or so, of course. Just... Alaska. Cold as balls. No sense freezing all week. Or so.

A hot shower warded off most of the chill, though he didn't relish braving the cold hallway in just his skivvies, but he hadn't thought to bring actual pajamas. He never wore more than boxer briefs. It hadn't even occurred to him to do otherwise.

After a brief consideration about what Becket wore to bed -- a fleeting thought there and gone fast enough to deny later -- Chuck sucked it up and headed out into the hall.

Where he promptly ran chest-first into Raleigh, who had brought him... well, fuck. A soft and well-worn long-sleeve t-shirt, flannel pajama pants with a drawstring, and thick, fuzzy socks. Thoughtful bastard.

"This my Christmas present, then?" He couldn't help but grin, already stepping into clothes that felt almost as warm as if the silly bastard had been cuddling them next to a furnace. "Because I'm pretty sure I overshot the mark on price, if so."

He could stand to see more of that grin. Mori saw it often enough back in the 'dome, but Chuck had only rarely ever been the recipient of it. Shame. And likely his own fault.

"Ha, no. And seriously, you're not supposed to tell how much you spent, jerk."

"Whatever." Seriously. Comfortable. Clothes. He made a vow to accidentally-on-purpose take them back to Hong Kong with him. Later. In a week or so. "But seriously, what'd you get me?"

Another grin, those stupidly blue eyes lighting up with it. "You are such a little kid. Go to bed, or no more cookies the whole time you're here."

Mildly concerned -- though he was pretty sure nothing short of Slattern could keep him from the buttery, cinnamon-y bits of heaven that were "snickerdoodles", as Becket had dubbed them -- he pouted a bit. "That's gratitude for ya. I come halfway 'round the world, and this is the thanks I get."

The wanker just raised his eyebrows. "What exactly were you expecting? I mean, I fed you, gave you cocoa by a warm fire, let you borrow my favorite pajamas...?"

These were the pretty sod's favorites? Somehow, Chuck managed not to run a hand down the front of the superbly comfortable shirt.

Instead, he pouted a little more. He only brought out the expression on special occasion -- he hadn't exactly had many of those, so it was pretty goddamn rare -- so he was pretty sure it would be effective.

"So that's a no to a goodnight kiss, then?"

Jesus. He'd actually said it. He wasn't sure if he should be proud of himself or terrified of getting kicked out into the snow for his presumption.

Becket's eyebrows shot up.

Definitely. Terrified.

"Do you want me to tuck you in, too, Charlie?"

No. Sort of. But no. But kind of.

"...No."

He didn't say a damn thing about the "Charlie" bit. He... didn't know how to feel about it. It was... no one called him that. Ever.

Blue eyes rolled, but Becket caught him by the elbow and led him back to the bedroom, where the little space heater was roaring away, filling the room with lovely, blissful heat. He loved that fucking space heater. If he'd brought Max, the little wanker would likely set his fur on fire to lie close enough to it.

It was weird to watch someone else -- a grown-ass man -- pull back the covers and fluff the pillows and wait for him to crawl in before pulling the covers back up and tucking them up under his chin. They were both smirking about it, but... it was... actually... quite nice. Especially when Raleigh sat on the edge of the bed, tugging the covers a bit, and smirked down at him.

"Bedtime story?"

"Fuck off, Becket."

Highly amused, the silly sod snickered, then stood up, bent down and... oh.

Kissed him lightly right between the eyebrows.

"Goodnight, Charlie."

"You are such an asshole."

_Do it again._

"I'm glad you're here, too. Get some sleep."

"Yeah, yeah."

_Seriously. Don't leave yet._

With a smirk and a wink, the rotten bastard left and closed the door behind him. Chuck most definitely did not stare after him, half-wanting to call the silly sod back, just to make sure he was really here. That this wasn't a dream from the night before leaving the 'dome.

But the space heater rumbling away in the corner assured him. The softness of the quilt fabric and the little ridges of the seams where all those little pieces came together assured him. The fact that he was wearing Raleigh's clothes and could smell just a hint of the bloke on them assured him.

And, assured that he really was in Fucking Alaska with Raleigh Fucking Becket, Chuck Hansen fell quietly to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When Raleigh snickered at the sight of a sleepy-eyed, bed-headed Chuck Hansen dragging into the old cabin's main room, yawning and with Raleigh's pajama pants twisted to one side, and Chuck just grinned sheepishly and scratched at his stomach, Raleigh felt a weight slip off his shoulders. He hadn't been sure any of this was a good idea until just then. But seeing the massively off-guard, pleasantly slouchy kid slump down onto one of the stools at the bar separating the kitchen space from the living space convinced him.

They'd rub along well enough. This would probably work. For a week or so.

"Hungry?"

Still a bit bleary, the kid leaned an elbow on the bar and dropped his chin into his hand. "Did we have sex last night, or what?"

Uh. What.

Blinking but somehow still wide-eyed, he turned from the skillet to see if Chuck was somehow already drunk. "I'm sorry?"

"Isn't pancakes for breakfast sort of universal 'the sex was good, let's do it again sometime' etiquette?"

Okay. He did not see Chuck Hansen as a pop culture kind of guy. A guided missile, yes. A recidivist meme lord, not so much.

"We slept in separate rooms, Chuck." Luckily, he was never knocked off his stride for long and managed a smirk. "I'm good, but no one's _that_ good."

A snort. "Sod off. Do I smell bacon?"

Without turning away from the pancake that was almost ready for a flip, he gestured at a paper towel-covered plate piled high with strips.

"Nice."

Taking a good grip on the skillet's handle, he hoped he didn't fuck this up aaaannnnd... FLIP.

Splunk.

_Perfect._

The pancake landed wet side down right in the middle of the skillet. Hiding his grin, he waited for Chuck's reaction.

"Show-off."

He shook his head. Typical Chuck. "I don't see you doing it."

"I don't cook."

That finally got a glance back over his shoulder. Chuck shrugged.

"Never had much need. Like you said: all the shatterdomes had mess halls."

"Ah." Nodding, he went back to work. "I mostly learned out of self-defense. Yancy couldn't cook for shit, so if Jaz and I wanted to eat, we had to cook it for ourselves. And since Jaz was so much younger, it usually fell to me."

It took him a long moment to realize the homey quiet might actually be discomfort on Chuck's part. His eyebrows went up when the kid made no attempt to break it, and as soon as the next pancake was neatly spread out in the light grease, he shot a wary glance back over his shoulder.

Apparently, the poor kid was waiting for it. "You can talk about them? Just like that?"

Ah.

To his surprise, he found himself grinning softly. "I've made my peace with it. Finally." The grin turned wry as he shot Chuck another glance. "Admittedly, it took almost six years and an apocalypse, but hey. No one ever said I was the smart, emotionally well-adjusted Becket."

But Chuck still looked pretty poleaxed.

"What?"

Blinking, the kid shifted on the stool. "Sorry, mate. Just... you were so knackered about it before, yeah?"

Enough so that even Chuck, who had hated him at the time, had noticed. Serious now, Raleigh nodded and flipped the pancake with a spatula this time.

"It didn't happen all at once." Or fast. Or easily. "Just... activating Mako's escape pod so she didn't have to die with me, ya know? It made me realize that there was nothing I could have done for Yancy. It all happened too fast. We both made the decision to go off-mission. We both knew it could break bad. But we went, and he died." He swallowed hard, because acceptance wasn't quite the same as balancing a loss. "For a long time, I thought I should've died, too."

Another shift on the stool that earned another glance.

"But you didn't."

Die? Commit suicide? Accidentally-on-purpose fall off the Wall in a misguided act of attrition?

"No." A small shake of his head. "Yance didn't want me to. He wanted me to fight."

Those last words. They'd haunted him for so many years. The Drift told him what Yancy had been about to say, of course, but... he hadn't wanted to hear. Didn't want to fight. Didn't want to keep going when everything else was gone.

This time, when he glanced back, the kid was frowning. Not scowling or angry, just... confused? Curious? Hard to tell on a face he was only used to seeing as angry and arrogant.

Finally: "Then... why did you leave? After Pitfall?"

Another pancake in the skillet. He wasn't being overly careful to make them perfect circles. Really.

"Because the fight was over. Yancy also wanted me to _live."_

To travel, like they used to when they were young and Mom was alive and Dad hadn't yet run like a dog with its tail between its legs. To see more of the world than the viewscreen from a conn pod. To see new things, have new experiences.

To _live,_ not just to survive.

Before he could worry whether or not Chuck approved of his decision, the kid surprised him. "So... what did you do? Whilst you were on walkabout?"

His mouth twitched. It probably wasn't a Crocodile Dundee reference, but damn if it didn't sound like one. That fucking accent.

"I took pictures."

"Yeah? Of what?"

Another pancake flipped, and he turned to gesture with the spatula at the bookshelf on the near wall. "All sorts of stuff. See for yourself."

Apparently, the kid was a bit more alert than before, because he finally straightened his pajamas as he stood to fetch the album. Raleigh switched from pancakes to scrambled eggs, listening to plastic-lined pages flip one after the other, hearing the occasional interested noise.

Eventually: "You're good."

Grinning wryly, he scooped and stirred. "Yancy was the shutterbug. I'm just learning. But he had a good eye, so I used his old shots for inspiration."

"You still have his pictures?"

A flash of the bundle he'd carried from site to site on the Wall, to the shatterdome, on all his travels since, and the grin dimmed. When he'd decided to come back to Alaska, to try and stay, he'd finally had most of them framed. They were scattered on his bedroom wall where he could see them when he had trouble sleeping. Reminders of good times. Of good things he didn't want to forget.

"Some things, you just have to hang onto."

He expected a silent nod, at best. Thus, he was pleasantly surprised.

"Too right, mate." Flip. Flip. Flip. "Dad still carries a snap of Mum in his wallet. He used to take it out every time he drank."

His eyebrows rose. "Used to?"

"I made him stop drinking. He got a bit carried away after that thing with Scott."

Which was about when a much younger Chuck was looking for a Drift partner. The drink would have affected Herc's ability to pilot. Of course Chuck had made him stop.

But the kid wasn't done yet.

"Found him passed out on a catwalk. If he'd fallen, he'd have hit every jut on Striker's hull on the way down and been dead before he even hit the floor. I told him never again." He swallowed hard. "He was all I had left. Besides Max."

Oh. Well. Wasn't the first time he'd misjudged Chuck Hansen. Maybe this time would be the last.

"Oh. Hey, now." The next flip didn't come. "I like this one. Where is this?"

Eh, the eggs were done anyway. He turned off the flame under the skillet and shifted it to another burner, then went to look.

Ah. Chuck had a good eye, too, then. The Green Lake in Austria, known for its crystal clear water and the Hochschwab Mountains surrounding it. The water was so clear, in fact, that the old, weather-beaten rowboat Raleigh had captured looked to be floating in midair.

Smiling softly, he touched the plastic covering the picture. "Green Lake. Styria, Austria. I went to see the Alps, but it turns out they aren't the only mountains there."

Chuck grinned and looked up at him with those oh, so rare dimples, and Raleigh suddenly realized how close they were. He was damn near curved over the kid's shoulder, and with the stool as high as it was, he could lean down just a bit and kiss the big jerk he hadn't been able to leave behind with the rest of Hong Kong.

The grin softened but didn't go away entirely. "Anyone can take pretty pictures of the Alps, Ray. Good on you for going the extra distance and finding something better, yeah?"

It occurred to him suddenly that Chuck had just come all the way across the Pacific Ocean to see him. Talk about going the extra distance.

But that... wasn't something he could say just yet.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it himself.

So, he shrugged it off and twitched half a grin and went back into the kitchen area to bring on the food. "Yancy used to see something he wanted a picture of, then take ten more steps along and line up the shot from there. He said the best views were always just a little further down the road than you think you have to go."

Like the distance between Hong Kong and Alaska, perhaps. Because, for whatever reason, Chuck had come 5,000 miles to spend Christmas with someone he'd barely shared a civil word with on the strength of a handful of pointless, sometimes sarcastic letters from a near-stranger.

And Raleigh wasn't sure what to do with that, but he was suddenly pretty damn sure the kid hadn't come all this way just because he was bored with the Hong Kong scenery.

Huh.

"How's that bacon coming along, mate?"

And that was more the Chuck he thought he knew, so he gave up all the thoughts that were entirely too heavy for first thing in the morning and served his weird houseguest a hearty, homemade breakfast.

Everything else could wait.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm cold."

"Because you came to Alaska in winter with nothing but t-shirts."

"Leather. Coat."

"Which you're not gonna wear inside. Not all the time."

Chuck eyed the wanker with easily as much amusement as irritation. Raleigh did have a point, but Chuck wasn't about to concede it.

Luckily, said wanker really was an all-around good bloke and didn't get fussed. "How about a trip into town? I can show you around a bit and you can pick up a couple of warmer shirts, just to tide you over."

Right. Because he was only staying a week or so.

So, he shrugged and tossed the damp kitchen towel he'd been using to dry the breakfast dishes into the silly sod's face.

"Really, Chuck?"

Snickering, he stacked the last dish and stretched whilst waiting for Raleigh to put everything away. He'd changed into his usual trousers and t-shirt before realizing the bloke was already at the dishes, but yes, he was chilly just standing about in the kitchen. The cabin wasn't only heated by the fireplace, of course, but... Alaska. In winter.

"I'm gonna go put on my actual outside-in-Alaska clothes now."

His eyes narrowed, though his mouth wanted to smirk. "You're a wanker. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, but at least I'm a warm wanker."

That got a laugh, and he waved the rotten sod away, then headed for the bar and the album he hadn't finished looking through before. The bloke may say he was just a beginner, but as far as Chuck could tell, the shots looked damn near professional. Crooked trees in otherwise normal-looking forests. A lone upside down umbrella in a sea of right-side-up ones in a rainstorm. A dropped coin on a cobblestone street. The skeletal bones of an in-progress building looking stark black against a blazing orange sunset.

Talented fuck.

Well before he reached the end of the album, said talented fuck strolled back out of his bedroom in blue jeans, at least two torso layers that he could see -- henley and thick jumper -- and heavy-treaded boots. Surely they wouldn't be hiking all the way back to town.

His eyebrows shot up when the silly sod tossed a henley and another jumper -- brown cableknit, where Becket's was a soft blue-grey -- at him.

"You'll need more than a t-shirt and a leather coat, even just to get in and out of the truck. According to the thermometer outside my bedroom window, it's a whopping two degrees outside this fine, sunny morning." A smirk. "I'm guessing wind chill puts it well below negative, so we're both bundling up."

Chuck had no intention of arguing. He shrugged into the henley without taking off the t-shirt, then pulled the jumper overhead and shifted around until everything settled just so. Then, surprised by how soft to the touch the yarn was, he just... petted the front of it. Just for a moment. He only had vague memories of one jumper about a million years ago, and it had been scratchy as hell.

Musing, he idly traced the cableknit texture and tried to pin the foggy memory better. How old had he been? Seven? Maybe eight? He remembered... his mum. He couldn't really see her, but he remembered... a blue dress? Dark blue? Almost black? She was taming his hair -- much more flaming red then than it was now -- with water and a comb, then pulling the dumb jumper over his head.

"Chuck?"

If he remembered right, and the memory became slightly less fuzzy the more he mulled on it, he had immediately and adamantly refused to wear it. Had his mum been mad? He didn't remember her ever yelling at him, but he thought he'd been on her bad side that day.

Why had she been dressed so fine? Why had he? Where were they going?

Where was Herc?

"Chuck, are you okay? You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. I have hoodies or--"

"No."

The memory refused to become any clearer than his mum with her hands on her hips, not mad but definitely not happy with him. And itchy. The goddamn jumper had been itchy as hell.

"Just... sorry, mate." Shaking his head, he tried to smile at the bloke watching him with equal measures of worry and wariness. "Don't remember jumpers being so soft."

That earned the tentative start of a grin. "Fabric softener. Works wonders. Plus, that's merino wool. The good stuff."

He blinked. "Since when do you have the good stuff? All your jumpers at the 'dome looked like shit."

Unimpressed, the bloke raised an eyebrow. "Probably because I got them at Goodwill and didn't care what they looked like so long as they were baggy enough to layer up and I couldn't afford anything else?"

He winced. "Yeah. Sorry. Open mouth, insert foot."

But the wanker again proved to be a good sort and shrugged it off. "At any rate, that one, I picked up in Switzerland. This one's from Romania and it's almost as soft."

Relieved that he hadn't pissed the poor sod off, he ran his hand down the ridiculously comforting softness, then reached for his coat. Becket followed his lead, then insisted on beanies, gloves, and thick scarves before grabbing up his keys.

"You ready?"

Chuck rolled his eyes, which were just about the only part of his face still visible at this point. "Seriously? Mate, I've been cold before. Let's get this over with."

Smirking, Raleigh opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, where several inches of snow had accumulated overnight. Chuck took two steps outside, caught a face-full of subzero breeze, and stopped cold. Pun definitely fucking intended.

"I've changed my mind."

Snorting, Raleigh kept right on trudging, waving for him to follow. "Wuss."

"If we die, I'm killing you."

"You have to actually step off the porch to get to the truck, Charlie."

Muttering darkly -- and blushing at the return of the dumb nickname, and very glad the scarf covered the stupid color on his stupid face -- he grudgingly stepped off the porch and followed the silly wanker he'd left normal, sane, survivable temperatures to see through the snow to an old beast of a truck with rust on the hood and chains on the tires.

What the hell was he doing here? It was fucking cold. He hated the cold. He was Australian, for God's sake, and he hadn't even been alive the last time it had snowed in Australia.

Then, Raleigh grabbed onto the driver's side door and turned to give him a huge, stupid, encouraging grin visible even over the scarf looped around his neck.

Oh. That's what he was doing here.

So, without another protest, Chuck climbed up into the beat-up old truck and let his old rival drive him into town.


	6. Chapter 6

Watching Chuck Hansen try on hoodies and sweatshirts and, yes, even the occasional sweater was a weird, amusing sort of Zen. Raleigh couldn't help but grin softly the more the kid got into the search for the perfect winter gear. It was almost like the big jerk had never been shopping before.

Jesus. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe that's why he only had PPDC issue from the Shack in his wardrobe.

"That one. You need to get that one."

The kid paused in the act of reaching to take the sweater off. "I don't like it. Feels weird."

His lips twitched. "It's a turtleneck. It'll keep the wind off your throat and from blowing down your back."

"Whilst it's strangling me."

Another twitch. "It's a good color for you."

It was. The deep green lent those bright grey eyes a hint of their color and made the coppery tones of all that ginger hair gleam.

But the kid was staring critically at himself in the full-length mirror. "Makes me look pasty."

Which made all the freckles stand out, which was part of why Raleigh liked it. Chuck looked maybe fifteen years old, and it was fucking adorable.

"Seriously, mate, this one's a pass." Sure enough, the poor kid tugged at the neck and shifted uncomfortably. "It's soft, yeah, but... can't stand it."

Off went the green turtleneck, leaving the more familiar -- if rumpled -- grey t-shirt behind, and Chuck went back to looking his age. Raleigh gave up and grinned.

"Note to self: no turtlenecks."

"Please tell me that's not what you got me for Christmas."

He chuckled and tossed a fleece hoodie over, catching the turtleneck in return. "Would I admit it now if I had?" Folding the offending sweater to add to the reject pile, he smiled crookedly, feeling an unexpected stab in the chest. "Honestly, I can't wear them, either. Not unless they're really loose. Reminds me too much of the neck piece on our drivesuits."

"Oh. Shit." Blinking wide eyes, the kid paused in the act of shrugging on the latest shirt. "Yeah, maybe that's why it bothered me. Been a while since I've had anything wrapped right 'round my neck, yeah?"

Raleigh didn't think about things like that very often. Not anymore. He'd put a lot of miles under his feet after Pitfall in an effort to get some distance from that part of his life. He didn't want to forget it -- for one thing, he refused to let go of Mako, who filled a place in him he'd long thought would feel like a black hole forever -- but he couldn't live like that. Couldn't live in the shadow of the one thing he'd done right.

"Raleigh?"

Oops. Shaking it off, he looked over at Chuck and grinned. "That one's a keeper."

The grey and blue plaid fleece turned those stormcloud eyes more blue, the kid's shoulders looking broad as a barn as he shrugged them to settle the seams.

"Yeah, this one, I like." Grinning, he flipped the hood up, then flipped it back down again. "Put this one on the keeper pile."

Raleigh laughed suddenly, bending back with it, as the kid's hair stuck up from the static. Fleece was bad about that, and the kid's hair had already been pretty wrecked.

"Oi, what?"

_Don't piss him off. You're having too good a time to ruin it._

Good advice, so he got ahold of himself. "Do you not use conditioner?"

The burgeoning irritation turned to confusion. "Eh?"

Stepping closer, he licked his hand and swiped it over the crackling floof of ginger.

"Oi, gross! What the fuck, mate?"

Another chuckle. "If you're gonna wear fleece, you might wanna start. Dry winter air combined with even more drying out from the fireplace combined with fleece might just equal spontaneous combustion." He grinned wryly. "'Flaming red hair' might take on a whole new meaning."

"Fuck off, ya wanker." But the kid was grinning sheepishly, those dimples taking years off his age yet again as he shrugged out of the dangerous shirt. "Did you really have to spit in my hair to make the point?"

"Yes." His lips twitched, but he managed to keep a straight face. "Yes, I did."

But the hoodie still went in the keeper pile. "I reckon that means we're stopping somewhere for conditioner, yeah?"

He shrugged. "Or you can just use mine."

Ginger eyebrows rose.

Rolling his eyes, he tossed over a plain ol' hoodie in charcoal grey. "I'm from Alaska. I know what this weather and stocking caps do to hair."

There was the smirk the kid was so famous for. "So it's not because you've grown it out and want it to look pretty?"

Surprised, he still managed to bat his eyelashes. "Why, Chuck. Are you saying my hair's pretty?"

"Oi!"

He snickered at the immediate crawl of color up the kid's throat and caught the hoodie thrown at him.

"Wanker."

Waggling his eyebrows, he folded and discarded. "A warm wanker with pretty hair."

"Sod off." But the kid was grinning as he shrugged back into Raleigh's henley and sweater. "Now, I'm guessing I need a warmer coat?"

He couldn't help it. He lit up like a Christmas tree. "I'm picturing something really, really puffy."

"Fuck you, Ray. One more threat like that, and you're waiting in the truck."

He laughed, Chuck grumbled and shouldered him aside on the way by, and all was right in the world.

And that was Chuck Hansen's first shopping trip.


	7. Chapter 7

"I did _not_ look like the Michelin Man."

Admittedly, Chuck hadn't known what the hell Becket was even talking about without a Google search, but that was neither here nor there. He'd settled on a warm, woolen coat like Becket's, not one of the puffy, ridiculous subzero monstrosities, so no. He hadn't looked like a man-shaped stack of goddamn tires, thanks.

"And if you'd settled in a normal, habitable climate like a wanker with half a brain, it wouldn't be an issue in the first place."

Becket, displaying the weird emotional Zen he'd somehow reached since leaving Hong Kong, merely smiled and crossed his ankles on the raised foot of the recliner. The fire crackled pleasantly before them, putting out mellow, woodsmoke-scented heat, and Chuck really wasn't complaining. Just... bickering. Because it was... fun?

Because Raleigh didn't seem to take any of it personally and slang it back at him with that uncomplicated grin, and... yes. It was fun. Way more fun than Chuck had expected, considering they'd done nothing more thrilling than drive into town and back all damn day and he was not a man used to downtime.

"Sometimes, man, you just gotta go home."

What? Oh. The uninhabitable climate. Right.

Frowning, Chuck adjusted the quilt folded and thrown over his legs, then resettled. He, too, had his feet kicked up, his new socks thick and warm and soft, his new flannel pajama pants and thermal henley much the same, and it occurred to him suddenly that, no matter how comfortable he currently was, he had no idea what home was. He hadn't had one for so long.

Hell, kicking back with Becket in a snow-buried cabin in the wilds of Alaska felt more like home than even the Shack had, no matter how long he'd bunked there. And the Hong Kong shatterdome had just been another place to sack out, a base to attack from. Nothing more.

Home. It was... a foreign concept. It was a blurry, indistinct memory of his mum in a dark blue dress, irritated at him for being stubborn, maybe. Australia?

But part of him cringed away from the idea of going back there. The Shack had never been more than a military barracks to him, and he didn't even remember what his old house looked like. Not that it was there anymore. Not after the nuke.

Nothing to go back for. Not even a grave to visit.

"Chuck?"

He sighed and shot the bloke a wary glance, but Becket just looked... sympathetic. Like he understood. And dammit, the rotten sod probably _did_ understand. For all that they'd been at each other's throats at first, they'd lived through a lot of the same shit, suffered plenty of the same losses.

"More cocoa?"

 _I know it won't help,_ the bloke didn't say. _But it's warm and sweet and not something we had during the war, so maybe it can at least fill in a gap somewhere. Just for a while._

"Yeah, mate. Thanks."

So he handed off his mug and didn't grumble when the wanker scruffed his hair on the way by. Instead, he stared at the hush and crackle of the fire and wondered how Becket was so... calm. So Zen. How he'd made peace with... just... everything.

Had it been all the traveling? Walking the world a while and seeing places the kaiju never touched? Finding the one odd thing in a sea of normal in every new place and taking a picture of it? Or was it coming back to Alaska and touching his roots?

Was it something Chuck could reproduce? Find for himself?

Because right now, sacked out in warm, comfortable civilian clothes -- not Raleigh's clothes, but still warm and comfortable -- under a cushy, heavy quilt in front of a crackling fire with nothing more on the docket than idle chitchat and an evening meal later, he decided he wanted it. Whatever Becket had found for himself, whatever peace the bloke had made, Chuck wanted to feel that.

He wanted to find a home place.

He wanted to go home.

"Careful: the mug's hot, though the handle isn't."

Finding something of a grin, he looked up and accepted the offered mug. Plain old stoneware; Becket apparently didn't go in for novelty mugs or fancy designs.

"Thanks, mate."

The mug was, indeed, hot, so he quickly switched it around until he held the handle before it actually burned him. Raleigh slumped back down into his own armchair, setting a plate of biscuits on the end table between them before pulling his quilt back over his legs and feet. This time, his grin was real.

"What if I spoil my dinner?"

The silly sod shot him a grin and a shrug. "What good is living through the end of the world if you can't spoil your supper every now and then?"

Since there was no arguing that logic, Chuck gathered up a handful of biscuits -- chocolate chip this time and almost cake-like in texture -- and dunked one in his cocoa. Surprisingly content for someone who'd just had the lowering thought that he no longer knew what home felt like, he let his worries wander away for a bit and just... existed. He should probably be bored out of his mind, as used to constant action as he was, but he wasn't. Maybe he would be in a day or two, but for now....

Good fire. Good food. Good company.

He'd take it.

Everything else could wait.


	8. Chapter 8

Raleigh couldn't help but notice Chuck's subdued mood the rest of the evening. The kid talked, of course. In fact, he was surprised by how well they got on with their nattering. It was almost like they'd been friends all along and just hadn't known it until now.

It was very nice indeed. Maybe the letters had helped, after all.

But those dimples didn't show themselves very often, and more than once, Raleigh caught the kid staring a little too long at the fire or poking at his supper -- lasagna this time, because Raleigh felt like showing off -- without taking a bite for just long enough that it was noticeable. Something was bothering him, and while it clearly wasn't a dealbreaker that would send the poor guy home early, it wasn't necessarily going away.

Thus, when it was again time to hit the hay for the night, Raleigh let Chuck shower first -- one of the first things he'd done upon buying the cabin was install a much larger and better insulated water heater, because he was hellbent on having as long and hot a shower as he damn well wanted -- but stopped him just before he shut the door with his armful of warm pajamas.

"Hey, Chuck?"

"Hm?"

He wanted to reach out somehow, but he didn't think they were quite there yet. Not just out of nowhere. So he stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried a grin.

"I'm glad you're here."

Lo and behold, that got enough of a grin that the dimples finally showed themselves a bit. "Me too, mate."

So that wasn't the problem, which was a relief.

So Raleigh did what he could. He banked the fire in the main room, turned on Chuck's space heater, since he liked it so much, washed their cocoa mugs and put them away, and turned off the rest of the lights. Then, grinning, he went back into the guest room and pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows, then sat on the foot of the bed and waited.

He wasn't disappointed.

Chuck came shambling in from the hallway, scruffing at his damp hair, in a loose henley and plaid pajama pants and thick socks, looking adorable as hell, saw Raleigh sitting there, and grinned with a lot more gusto than he had before.

"Seriously?"

He didn't bother stopping the stupid smile that spread across his face. "You're the one who wanted tucked in last night. What kind of host would I be if I didn't oblige before you had to ask?"

The bright grin turned into an amused smirk, but the big kid didn't argue as he scooted between the covers while Raleigh stood up to tuck him in. When Chuck looked comfortable enough, Raleigh sat back down on the edge of the bed and just looked at his old rival and new friend.

After a long, quiet moment, he made himself ask the question.

"Is everything okay?"

Chuck's smirk dimmed until he looked as serious as Raleigh felt. "Not sure, really." He shook his head and looked away. "Maybe not."

_Did I say something wrong? Make you feel unwelcome? Can I fix it?_

But before he could voice any of those embarrassing-in-retrospect questions, the kid surprised him, yet again, by turning back and looking him right in the eye.

"But I think I'm in the right place to maybe make things better."

His eyebrows rose. That definitely wasn't what he expected, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it yet.

"I just... you're so...." Ginger eyebrows drew together, but not as if the kid was angry. "Don't laugh, but you're so at home here. You're... at peace, yeah?"

Oh.

"And I'm not. Don't think I ever have been, really." The shrug was barely visible under the layer of quilts, but Raleigh still didn't believe it. "But if someone who's been through as much shit as you have can be as goddamn content as you are right now, I could do worse than try to learn how you got here."

Jesus. Chuck Hansen from a year ago would never have said anything like that. Had a handful of boring letters really opened him up that much? What was happening inside that complicated ginger head?

Frowning a bit, though he wasn't at all upset, Raleigh tried to sound like he knew what he was talking about. "I didn't do anything special, you know. I just... told myself there was more to life than duty." The frown loosened a bit. "Don't get me wrong; Herc knows how to get ahold of me if I'm needed again, but Yancy wanted me to be more than a jaeger pilot."

He swallowed hard, tempted to look away but unable to. The kid's eyes held his own, that look both intent and... greedy? Or just desperate for answers?

Unfortunately, the next part would only come out as a whisper. "Being just a jaeger pilot almost killed me after Knifehead. Coming back, finding people worth standing with, connecting with people again... I finally decided Yancy was right all along. I wasn't living before. I want to live now."

He watched Chuck process this, that ruthless intelligence studying it from all angles. Eventually, the kid nodded.

"So you eventually came home."

Solemn, he nodded. "It took a while before I was ready, but yes. I came home."

Those bright eyes darkened. "What if I don't know where home is?"

Oh. Ouch.

Because Chuck had grown up in shatterdomes and in military housing. Because his mother had died when he was ten and he'd spent every year since training to avenge her with no thought to his own needs beyond that.

His throat dry, he swallowed hard again. "Then you can borrow mine until you find your own."

It was more than just an invitation to stay a week or two. It was an invitation to stay as long as someone who'd been uprooted needed to feel safe. To feel settled.

And Chuck understood. It was in the sudden relaxation when Raleigh hadn't even known the kid had tightened up. In the sudden dimples on either side of a widening, relieved grin. In the crinkling at the corners of changeable eyes.

"You're a good mate, Raleigh."

His mouth twisted into half a grin. "I'm trying, anyway."

"You're ace, mate."

Half a grin turned into a full one, and he stood away from the bed, then snickered when the kid suddenly pouted.

"Oh, my God, fine."

Not really irritated, he bent down and dropped a kiss right between ginger eyebrows, debating whether or not he should comment that he could smell his conditioner in that scruffy ginger mop.

He decided not to. That was one he'd keep for himself.

So he stood away, smiling softly. "G'night, Charlie."

"G'night, Raleigh."

He turned out the light and shut the door, then laid his forehead against it for a moment. Chuck needed a lot more than just a visit, and that surprised the hell out of him but probably shouldn't.

And... maybe he could help.

But for now, he needed a shower. And he should probably think about breakfast tomorrow. Maybe waffles. He was pretty sure he had the ingredients.

And they should probably make a snowman at some point, because he really wanted to hear Chuck bitch about the cold while trying to build a jaeger out of snow.

And when he finally lay down in his own bed, his space heater thrumming away and the covers pulled up to his nose, he let himself remember the smell of his conditioner -- no fancy brand, just something with a lot of moisturizer and a mellow, fresh smell -- in Chuck's hair. He liked it.

He could stand to smell it a whole lot more.

But he could wait. It looked like Chuck would be around longer than he'd originally thought.

So thinking, he fell asleep with a smile.


	9. Chapter 9

It was cold. So, so cold, and Chuck was only wearing his usual t-shirt and trousers. He didn't even have on his boots.

Why would he go out without his boots? Especially in Alaska? Especially when he had new warm things he should be wearing?

Raleigh. Where was Raleigh? Becket would've never let him leave like this.

Alaska howled and blasted around him, the snow like little daggers of ice blowing in his face and scraping past. He couldn't feel his ears. Or his nose. Or his hands, which he'd shoved up into his armpits in a useless effort to save them from frostbite.

Forget his feet. He wasn't even sure he _had_ feet anymore.

Jesus. What the hell had he been thinking?

But the cabin had been empty when he awoke, empty and cold and dark, and he _hadn't_ thought. He just... ran. He hated being alone. He hadn't expected that here.

Where was Raleigh? Why would he leave like that?

So fucking cold. He stumbled through knee-deep drifts, shouting for Raleigh. His lungs felt choked with ice, sharp and biting and stealing his breath, but he shouted anyway.

Raleigh _wouldn't_ leave him alone, so the bloke must have been taken. Like every-fucking-thing had always been taken.

Goddammit, he couldn't do this again.

"Chuck."

Dark, snow-weighted trees groaning in the blowing white-out. White drifts piled everywhere. No sign of human life. No shelter from the blizzard.

He would die out here. Cold and alone.

He'd always known that. Ever since the Drift went away, he'd known he'd die cold and alone.

"Chuck, wake up."

Warm hands on his face, in his hair. Out in the middle of nowhere?

"It's okay, kid. I'm here. No one took me."

Raleigh. That was Raleigh, talking softly, like Chuck was a wild animal that might bite.

Not somewhere out in the blizzard. Not dying in the cold. Not all alone.

"I heard you talking in your sleep and came to check. You're okay now. I'm right here."

Jesus Christ, it was just a dream.

Shuddering as he pulled himself out of his head and into the real world, Chuck lurched up and grabbed onto that solid form before it could go away. Warm and solid. Faint smell of shampoo or soap. Soft fabric over hard muscle.

 _Raleigh._ Jesus, it really was just a dream.

"It's okay, Chuck." Oh, glory be, but the brilliant wanker wrapped him up in a tight hug and rubbed his back. "It was just a dream. I still have bad ones, too."

Yeah, but Chuck suspected Raleigh's bad ones were usually about kaiju, like his usually were. Not about freezing to death all alone out in the wilds of fucking Alaska, shouting for someone who wasn't there.

But Raleigh _was_ here. He hadn't left. Hadn't been taken.

He felt hot tears prickle the corners of his eyes but didn't let them build. He wasn't upset, and he didn't want the bloke thinking anything was wrong.

Because, for the moment, everything was fair fucking dinkum _right._ He didn't want that to stop just yet.

"Do you need to talk about it?"

Jesus Christ no. Maybe never. Definitely not right now, with an armful of sleep-warm body holding him up. And it didn't take a doctorate in psychology to know what the dream had been about.

He just needed... to hold on a bit longer. Make sure he wasn't still dreaming. Make sure this wasn't about to be torn away from him, too, just when he felt like he had something solid in reach.

"Okay." Stroke, stroke. Those big hands were warm and soothing on his back. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

Oh, if only. But soon enough, the sturdy bloke would deem Chuck recovered enough to let him go and go back to his own room. Soon enough, he'd have to curl back up alone under the heavy covers. Even with drowsy heat humming up from the trusty space heater in the corner, Chuck already felt cold at the thought.

And might have held on that much harder. Thankfully, Raleigh didn't comment.

But Chuck knew it wouldn't last, so he sighed against the bloke's warm throat. "I swear I will feed you to the bears if you laugh right now, but... would you... maybe... stay?"

His face was instantly on fire, despite the internal chill lingering from the emptiness of the dream. Did he really just ask that?

"You want me to sleep in here?"

 _No._ But that was bullshit, and he knew better. "Yeah? Just... hard to explain, but...."

Jesus. He was a moron. Was he trying to get kicked out just when he'd gotten the okay to stay as long as he needed?

But those big hands kept running up and down, up and down. "Um... okay. I'm still not a very good sleeper, but if you're okay with me being kinda restless...?"

Wordless, he nodded and tried to loosen his grip so the bloke could get up. It felt like mentally prying his own hands away, but he managed, then watched with what he hoped wasn't too much wide-eyed fear of abandonment as the big sod went around the foot of the bed and pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed. As soon as that warm body had settled, Chuck gave up all pride and glomped onto it, shivering all over again and not just because the bloke had let all the warm air out from under the blankets.

"That bad, huh?"

Despite the hint of amusement in that drawling tone, Raleigh didn't hesitate to wrap him up again, giving him a squeeze before returning to stroking his back. It felt like tangible comfort.

Like coming home.

But he didn't want to think that way. Not tonight. Not when he was so goddamn relieved to not be alone when he'd traveled halfway around the world just to be here.

He'd just say something stupid and end up out in the cold. Alone.

He didn't want that.

So he kept his big mouth shut and cuddled up to the bloke's solid warmth, his face tucked under the strong jaw. He could be ashamed of himself tomorrow, maybe. Right now, he just wanted to feel like someone was there for him.

And Raleigh delivered in spades, stroking his back and holding on, and soon enough, Chuck felt himself drifting off. Not Drifting. Just... fading out. Muzzy and tired and only mildly concerned that he might fall into the same dream and wake up feeling cold all through him again.

He didn't think that would happen. Not now.

So he let himself drift away, wrapped up and wrapped around his former rival's solid warmth, and he smiled as he went, hoping for much better dreams this time. Now that he wasn't alone.


	10. Chapter 10

Raleigh didn't give Chuck any shit about his new coat. He most definitely didn't give the kid any shit about the new stocking cap pulled down over his ears. Or the near blanket-width scarf wrapped loosely around neck and lower face.

But he did give him shit about the mittens. He didn't even care that the kid had a point about mittens preventing more evaporative heat loss than fingered gloves by keeping the fingers together. Hell, Raleigh usually wore them himself for exactly that reason.

He just couldn't get over how _stinking cute_ the big kid looked trying to build a snowman in _mittens_.

"Oi, seriously, ya wanker. One more time, and I'm holding you down and shoving snow down your back."

Smirking -- though he thought they'd be a lot more even in a fight this time if Chuck wasn't so furious that he just flailed away heedlessly -- Raleigh looked up from the bucket of snow he'd been filling and tamping down repeatedly for the past ten minutes. "You can try, anyway."

The smirk earned him a surprising waggle of ginger eyebrows. "Don't tempt me."

Rolling his eyes, he went back to filling up what would be his Robbie the Robot snowman head after some modifications. Chuck had made several such vague but more-than-friendly gestures over the course of the morning. Nothing too overt, but definitely more... open to interpretation. It was as if midnight comfort cuddles had opened up a whole new door for the kid, and while Raleigh was more than somewhat interested in seeing what might be beyond that door himself, he wasn't sure that was in Chuck's best interest right now.

Mostly, he wasn't sure what his former rival actually _needed._ Companionship? He could do that. They were already doing that. Harmless, fun for both of them, and infinitely more satisfying than hating each other and only grudgingly working together toward a common goal. Intimacy?

That might be a little much just yet. It was a long way from comfort cuddles and an open-ended welcome to an intimate relationship.

So he didn't quite know how he should react to the new air between them. On one hand, it felt like Chuck was genuinely letting go of the past and trying to move on into whatever the future held. That hadn't been Raleigh's strong suit until this past year, but he was pleased that Chuck was allowing him to help, to be there for him while he worked through the chaos that had been his life up 'til now.

On the other hand, it did make him wary of either mistaking the kid's intentions or accidentally pushing something before Chuck had a chance to decide for himself what he wanted.

A hell of a conundrum.

"Thinking awful hard over there, mate."

He grinned a bit and tossed a loose handful of snow in the big jerk's direction. It flaked away before reaching the target, of course, but he thought the sentiment was clear.

"Just sayin. You're building a snowman, not trying to ride a kaiju through the Breach."

His mouth wanted to smirk, but he didn't want to let it. "Too soon, jerk."

"It's been a year, Ray. Time to let it go."

He snorted. "Oh, so now you're a yogi? You've reached enlightenment over rolling up Frosty's torso, there?"

Bright eyes twinkled in the cold sunlight. "You're the one who climbed a goddamn tree to cut me the perfect arm-shaped branches, Buddha."

"And gave you a carrot." He gave up trying to hold back the smirk. "And dug up rocks for the eyes. _And_ loaned you a scarf so you wouldn't use yours."

"Exactly." Great. Now Chuck was smirking, too. "So who's enlightened now, jackass?"

Rolling his eyes, he turned back to his nearly-full bucket of rock-solid packed snow and... THUMP.

No. He. Didn't.

Not bothering to brush off the snow all over the back of his head and down the neck of his coat, he tried to glare. "You really wanna go, Hansen?"

Smirking enough to show off both dimples, the giant brat tossed another snowball from one mittened hand to the other. Never taking his eyes off the jerk, Raleigh bent down to gather up and firmly pack a generous handful. For a long moment, they stared at each other, snowballs held loosely but ready.

Then, all snowy hell broke loose.

Later, Raleigh wouldn't be sure who started it. All he knew for sure was that Chuck gave as good as he got, taking longer to make harder-packed projectiles but hurling them with devastating accuracy so not a one was wasted. Raleigh -- having grown up matching wits against Yancy, who was damn near a snowball-fabricating machine -- cared less about impact than about overwhelming the opposition with constant rapid-fire. He threw with both hands indiscriminately until his left shoulder started to ache from the unaccustomed activity.

Soon enough, Chuck was liberally coated with snow from all the softer hits spraying all over him, but Raleigh had a hell of a lot more sore spots, thanks to the big jerk's snowballs not falling apart on impact. On the plus side, he was usually able to pick up the fallen ammo and throw it back, which never failed to get a hilarious Australian curse.

Thus, he was still laughing breathlessly when Chuck roared, ran right at him, and tackled him back into a snow drift that exploded around them and buried them both. What little breath he had blasted out of him as that heavy body landed on him, but it was worth it to see how much of that ridiculously wide scarf got wrapped up over Chuck's face and head, knocking the stocking cap loose enough to expose the staticky ginger mess beneath.

Fucking. Adorable.

If he could just get his breath back enough to laugh about it.

Unfortunately, the big jerk didn't settle but squirmed around awkwardly, trying to free an arm enough to tug the scarf down off his face. Thus, Raleigh ended up with an elbow to the solar plexus, a rough sleeve across the nose, and a knee way too close to the balls for comfort.

"Here, lemme-- _ow!_ Just stop for a second and let me--"

"It's stuck on my goddamn nose--"

"--unwrap this part-- _ow!_ Dammit, Chuck, be still for a--"

"--fucking _strangling_ me, mate! No don't _pull--"_

"--second... there."

One last jab with an only slightly-padded elbow, and there were those bright eyes and freckled cheeks. The stocking cap had come off completely and was tangled up in the back of the scarf, but the messy tufts of staticky, snow-damp hair, the red across the nose and cheeks, and those goddamn freckles....

He couldn't help it. He grinned like a fool, suddenly so damn fond of his old rival. Without stopping to think about it, he reached up and ran a gloved thumb over a flushed cheekbone.

Chuck's breath caught.

He knew what would happen before Chuck even started the move, but he did nothing to stop it. Sure enough, the kid leaned down and kissed him, lips warm and nose cold. He burrowed his fingers under the awkward pile of scarf until he cupped the warm, damp back of Chuck's neck, only then realizing he'd lost one of his gloves somehow.

"Is... mate, is this okay?"

Smiling softly, he shrugged as much as he could under two hundred plus pounds of heavily-clothed muscle. "If it's what you want."

Another surprisingly gentle kiss. "Are... I mean, yeah, it's what I want, but...." Chuck pulled back enough to look down on him, the start of a frown drawing a vertical crease between ginger eyebrows. "What do _you_ want?"

He tilted his head a bit, taking in the handsome face, the bright eyes, the messy hair, the freckles. Then, he smiled again. "I want you to be happy." A shrug. "I want you to feel at home."

An indescribable look -- frustration? fondness? nausea? amusement? -- came and went before Chuck leaned down again for a less precious kiss. They were wearing too many clothes to get up to any shenanigans, and Raleigh's backside was starting to freeze and feel unpleasantly damp from all the snow melting under him and soaking into his outer layer, and if either of them moved too much, they dislodged a mini-avalanche, but... still.

Still.

Sometime later, both of them flushed and breathing almost as heavily as during the snowball fight, Chuck finally seemed to realize how much time had passed, how much the temperature had dropped, and pulled away enough to kneel astraddle Raleigh's thighs. The ginger hair was more disheveled than ever, and his lips were red and a little swollen, and Raleigh wanted to kiss him just one more time.

But he wanted dry clothes more, now that he wasn't distracted. And his ass was so cold he could barely feel it. And he couldn't find his glove and his hat had come off at some point, too.

So he sat up and twisted to dig around for his gear, and Chuck stretched back to bring some order to his dumb too-wide scarf that had apparently eaten his stocking cap, and soon enough, they helped each other up and laughed at how Raleigh's whole back side was damp, while Chuck had only suffered muddy elbows, thighs, and knees. It took three more kisses to get them back inside -- plus Raleigh's insistence that his ass was frozen and Chuck's agreeing that losing it to frostbite would be a real shame -- and another two kisses to separate long enough to get changed and toss everything into the washer.

But strangely enough, when they settled in front of the fireplace with warm, comfy clothes and blankets across their legs and mugs of hot cocoa, they didn't have to kiss anymore or even touch. It was enough just to sit quietly together, not talking much, grinning at the crackling flames.

Together. Quiet and comfortable and together.

At home.

As if he'd caught the thought right out of Raleigh's head -- as if they were Drifting in spite of having never done so before -- Chuck looked at him, smiled a bit, and nodded once. Content with what didn't need to be said, they went back to watching the home fire burn.

All because of a few dumb, rambly letters between not-quite-friends.

Maybe they'd been a good idea after all.


	11. EPILOGUE

Chuck hadn't been this excited about Christmas morning since he was a kid. Maybe not even then. He was so excited, in fact, that he'd infected Max, who was getting a little too old to literally run around in barking circles until he fell asleep under the tree.

Although that, in and of itself, was a pretty damn good gift. Herc hadn't questioned the request to send Max along on the next transport since Chuck had maybe decided to stay a bit longer than expected and missed his old friend.

In fact, Chuck wasn't sure his old man was even surprised. Or expecting either of them back any time soon.

But with Raleigh in the kitchen, mixing up a batch of his special cocoa -- doctored even further with peppermint Schnapps, though the sun wouldn't make even its brief appearance for hours yet -- and Max sacked out under the small but festive tree in the corner and Chuck all comfortable in flannel pajamas and one of Raleigh's jumpers, Chuck couldn't be anything but excited. There were presents to be opened, after all. Only a few, but that was a few more presents than he was used to seeing.

"Chuck, I can practically feel you vibrating with impatience from all the way in here."

He grinned, barely restraining himself from picking up the nearest brightly-wrapped package and shaking the hell out of it. "Then get that pretty ass in here and let's do this."

As always, Raleigh was too laid-back to take umbrage, so the eyeroll as he strolled into the living room with two mugs of steaming cocoa was more fond than irritated. "However will I manage to withstand such flattery?"

Smirking, he reached out and wrapped an arm around the bloke's waist, pulling him close but carefully, so none of the miracle cocoa spilled. He was getting used to reeling Raleigh in, though it hadn't even been a week since the first time he'd kissed a bloke with a beard and discovered he didn't mind the scruff at all.

But the thrill of an actual, homey Christmas was just enough to keep him from getting too distracted, so he merely gave the pretty sod a quick smooch, then relieved him of a mug and pulled away enough to take a sip.

"Jesus. Zoya?"

Yes, he'd met the little old Russian woman who turned into a glorious pile of wrinkles every time she smiled. Yes, he adored her on sight.

Yes, she'd written him off as hopeless on first meeting, but had taken to slipping two of everything into Raleigh's basket, just the same.

But Becket grinned and shook his head. "Mom. She hated eggnog but still wanted a little Christmas cheer, wink wink nudge nudge."

He snickered. "Nice."

But the presents were again calling his name, so he reached down and took the pretty sod's free hand in his own and gave it a tug. Raleigh's grin went crooked, but he followed without protest and sat beside him on the area rug in front of the fire where Max may or may not have fallen into a coma.

"Which one first?"

That crooked grin was distracting as hell. "God, you're adorable when you're excited."

"Dammit, Raleigh--"

"The green one."

Giving up on restraint entirely, he reached over and snagged the suggested package, a flat, rectangular box-shape wrapped in metallic green foil with a silver bow. As with the letters, once he had it in his grasp, he paused a long moment to savor the feeling.

Anticipation. Excitement. Curiosity. Possibilities.

Raleigh didn't try to hurry him up, of course. Just watched with fond amusement until Chuck finally tore into the wrapping, making a mess of it and to hell with being tidy.

A jumper. Rich, deep green. Thick cableknit. Oh, so soft to the touch that he was almost afraid to take it out of the box once he'd traced his fingers over the yarn.

"You looked so good in green. I couldn't help myself."

He blinked and tore his attention away from the rabbit-soft texture to raise his eyebrows at the bloke. That meant this was something new. Something Raleigh had bought just since Chuck got here.

"Merino wool. Same place I got the other one you liked so much."

The brown one Raleigh had lent him for that first trip to town. But that--

"Oi, wasn't that from Switzerland?"

The silly sausage just nodded like it was nothing.

"How the fuck did you get it here so fast? When did you even order it?"

That crooked grin. God help him.

"What good is saving the world if you can't call in a ranger assist to get a package delivered in time for Christmas?"

An astonished laugh coughed out of him. "Oh, my God, you didn't."

The grin went smug, and Chuck liked it even better. "You bet your fine ass I did."

And if that wasn't worth a kiss, Chuck didn't know what was. Smiling like a bloody idiot, he leaned in and did the job, even reaching up to run his fingers into the bloke's hair and bring him in even closer. When he was satisfied he'd done his noble duty to such a backhanded compliment, he pulled away, shrugged out of the current jumper, and put on the new one instead.

It felt perfect. Loose and thick and so goddamn soft. No turtleneck to strangle him and ruin the moment.

It felt like home.

Musing -- a flash of his mum with her hands on her hips came and went without a pang -- he traced his fingers down one of the wide cables down the front. "I like it."

Smiling softly, Raleigh nodded. "It looks good on you."

He blushed, neatly brushing aside the warm fuzzies for later consideration by reaching for a present to hand off. "Your turn, ya wanker."

The package was smallish, also rectangular, but heavy and wrapped in the same plain red paper as the other he'd brought. He was suddenly nervous, unsure of himself, as Raleigh picked carefully at the tape. He felt like he'd barely known the bloke when he'd asked Chau for a bit of assistance. Maybe Raleigh would hate it. Maybe--

"Oh, wow." That pretty face brightened, and Chuck felt lightheaded with relief. "Chuck, this is...." Running his fingers over the binding, Raleigh shook his head. "How in the world did you get an old leather-bound copy of _Frankenstein_ in Hong Kong? How did you even know...?"

Blushing now, he shrugged. "Reckoned you'd already read _Dracula,_ since you went to Transylvania just to see a vampire, so I thought maybe you'd like a bit of mad science as a change." Another awkward shrug. "Rang Chau up and asked him to find me the closest thing to a first edition in mint condition he could find."

Raleigh blinked at him, those baby blues wide and astonished. "But... when...? God, something like this wouldn't be easy to find these days." He huffed a sort of laugh. "Man, you were not kidding about out-spending me. This must've cost a fortune."

Grinning a bit, he ducked his head and answered the only question actually asked. "Asked him about it after I got the letter, yeah?"

"Chuck... that's...." The bloke's mouth worked for a moment before he found words again. "You didn't even know where I'd be to... ship it to me, or whatever. Why...?"

Instead of answering -- he honestly wasn't sure he even could -- he reached over under the tree and picked up his other present. It was both lighter and thinner than the book and wrapped in the same plain red paper. He'd debated long and hard back at the 'dome whether or not to even bring it, let alone wrap it as a gift. Wordless, he handed it over.

Also wordless, the bloke put the book down in his lap and accepted the second gift. Being just as careful to open it at the seams as he'd been before, the pretty sod slowly unfolded the paper and looked down at the plain, boring journal Chuck had picked up from Central Supply what felt like a lifetime ago. Blond eyebrows rose, but Chuck just gestured vaguely, hoping Raleigh got the hint.

Of course he did. Raleigh Becket wasn't a fool.

So, uncomfortable and blushing and hoping he'd done the right thing, he watched as Raleigh opened the journal cover and read the first page. Chuck hadn't written in it for a few weeks now, but those first words might as well have been carved directly on his heart.

>   
>  _Dear Raleigh,_
> 
> _Didn't expect to hear from you, mate. Not gonna lie - thought I'd seen the last of that fugly mug when you didn't so much as look back as you climbed into the chopper. Not sure you even knew I was there to see you off, if I'm honest._
> 
> _Not even sure I know why I was there._

Raleigh's eyes widened again and lifted to meet his. Chuck nodded.

He'd responded to each and every letter Raleigh had sent. He just hadn't mailed any of them. And he'd been one fuck of a lot more honest and open in them than he would have been if he'd actually thought the bloke would read them.

And now, he was giving them all to him at once.

A low, almost hurt sound caught in Raleigh's throat, and he leaned in for a near-desperate kiss that Chuck gladly, gratefully gave him. For a horrible moment, Chuck realized he could've so easily missed this. Not just Christmas but _this._

Home and Raleigh and a kiss that said he'd done right, he'd guessed well, and everything would be all right from now on.

Then, the pretty sod leaned their foreheads together, eyes closed, and sighed. "I did not get you good enough presents."

Surprised into a chuckle, he shook his head without pulling away. "You are seriously underestimating how much I want to sit here petting my jumper, love."

A quiet laugh and another quick kiss, and Raleigh leaned away and sighed. "Well, there's no way I can compete with this, but go on and open the other one. Mako's and Herc's can wait until after breakfast, I think."

Relieved and happy and feeling like today might just be the best day he'd ever had, Chuck reached over Max's still-unconscious bulk and tested the heft of the much-larger and much less tidily wrapped present he'd been eyeing since Raleigh put it out two days ago. It was weirdly oval-shaped and over a meter long at the furthest points, and dammit, he just wanted to know already.

So, incapable of neatly picking at the tape and saving the generic "cartoon Santas on a red background" paper, he tore into it like the child he only barely remembered being. Then, he stared long and hard at the gift before breaking out into a huge, delighted grin.

"When the hell did sneak a giant fleece-lined dog bed past me?"

To his surprise, the silly wanker blushed and shrugged. "I didn't."

The delight that Raleigh had bought him something for Max didn't fade, but it did take a backseat. Because if the bloke hadn't bought this since Chuck got here....

A quick glance from those baby blues. "That's actually why... I was at the general store, and they were just hauling those in off the truck and I immediately thought of Max." He swallowed hard, still not meeting Chuck's eyes. "And I suddenly realized I... sorta missed you... so that's when I stuck the map in the next letter."

This. Fucking. Wanker.

"I'd have shipped it to you if you didn't come. I just... y'know... sorta hoped you would."

He opened his mouth with no idea what would come out.

"Is it okay if I never go back to Hong Kong?"

His face heated, but considering the slow grin Raleigh gave him in response, he reckoned he hadn't said it wrong. And then, they were kissing enthusiastically enough that Max actually woke up and grunted his annoyance at being disturbed.

Luckily, the little fat wanker immediately saw the new dog bed Chuck had all but thrown aside, climbed into it, turned around twice, nuzzled the softness of it, and passed back out again.

In all, it was the best Christmas Chuck had ever had.

The Christmas he finally came home.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeee! So much fluff for our clownshoes!
> 
> As always, thanks so much to estei-feist for being awesome in every direction. This fluff was originally just for her (and me), but when it ended up being more or less complete, she encouraged me to share and share alike. *grin* Bless her heart!


End file.
